When I Need You
by Acoustic Juliet
Summary: “You've always been there.” A Martin and Ruthie short, lacking in a plot.


Title: When I Need You

Genre: Romance/General

Content: K

Warning(s): None.

Summary: "You've always been there." A Martin and Ruthie short, lacking in a plot.

When I Need You

**You've always been there.**

You stand in the shadows and peer at him in bewilderment; you're not quite sure when it had changed – your platonic relationship with Martin Brewer – but you were sure that it had. It had been a very patient course, as it went unknowingly toward a challenging destination. But as he lays quietly atop of his mattress's coverings – eyes closed and body relaxed – you step forward and in to his bedroom, and amble to where he lays sprawled across the bed. You watch him silently before stretching alongside him, your body parallel to his – and you can't help but acknowledge the difference in height. Martin has always towered over you, but you decide – it's beautiful.

You notice as his eyes open reluctantly, his head turning toward your brilliant gaze. He seems rather surprised by your presence, but smiles genuinely and turns on to his side, propping his head with the palm of his hand against the side of his face, whilst his elbow rests against the pillow beneath his neck. Your fingers wring uncharacteristically atop of your lap, and you find yourself seemingly frustrated by the inability to vocalize your thoughts. But his sincere grin merely widened, as his eyes grew tired and weary, and you can immediately sense that you'd disturbed a once peaceful slumber.

"Should I go?" You ready yourself to stand, as his arm catches yours and pulls you in to a familiar position.

"Stay," he said, a mere whisper.

You nod and gaze at the ceiling above, noticing a slight crack in the white paint. He sighs and drapes an arm across your stomach, allowing his head to fall in to the crook of your neck, pulling you nearer, soaking in the warmth of your body against his. And as he does so, your mind drifts to a time when Martin was merely a brother – and silently ponder the defining moment which altered the friendship. After all, you'd never before kissed someone you'd considered a brother – so it was clearly impossible to brand him a brotherly figure, anymore. Impossible, strange . . . and sinful.

"The door was unlocked," you said, threading your fingers through his. He moans in response and his breath tickles your flesh. "Mom sent me over with a casserole for your father and aunt. They're not home . . . but I figured you'd be here. Intuition, I guess." You cringe at the silence. "Dad's asking how you are, since you never seem to stop by the house, anymore. I – obviously – know the answer as to why, but I figured I'd spare him another heart attack by keeping the details under wraps. . . . I told him you've been filling out college applications."

"I have been," said Martin, softly.

"I know," you said, tilting your head to lean it against his. "But I still felt sort of guilty, considering that wasn't the actual reason as to why you've been M.I.A. at the Camden residency." There was a long pause. "It's not Mom I'm worried about; it's him. Dad's not keen on allowing those who live with us date his children – I mean, it hasn't always ended on a positive note. It tends to result in the fleeing of a Camden. . . . But I was analyzing it, and I've come to realize . . . you don't actually live with us, anymore. . . . The problem, however, is that at a time, you did."

He sighs. "But we're not dating, Ruthie."

"But we _are_ together!" You huff dramatically and wrench your hand from his grasp, crossing your arms over your stomach. "And I know it's nothing official, and I know we've already decided that telling anyone – as of now – would be the worst idea _ever_ . . . But whether or not we're officially dating or together or _whatever_, we're still _something_ beyond what either of my parents would have ever hoped for us to be. Frankly, I'd like to assume they'd be happy for us, considering they love you like their own son – but that's the problem, right there. You're Martin, illegitimate Camden child. And I'm Ruthie, the level-headed, intellect who's supposed to have this ongoing list of systematic morals." You turn to him.

"I know, Ruthie," he said, sighing exasperatingly, placing his lips against your cheek. "But I like you. And I don't see why we have to share it, yet, if we're both so unsure of what this is, where it's going . . . Before we're torn apart, I'd like to have you to myself for a while."

You smile sincerely. "You don't own me, Martin."

He snickers. "I know," he said. "That's not what I meant."

"I was being facetious."

Martin grins and takes you by the hand, sitting up and bringing you along with him. "I'm thirsty. And hungry. But I don't feel like eating in. Let's go somewhere. How about the promenade? My treat."

You nod. "Okay, you're on."

You head down the stairs first, and Martin follows. You pause at the doorway and embrace him round the middle. "I'm sorry for sort of freaking out back there."

Martin chuckles wholeheartedly. "It's okay," he said. "I forgive you." You pull away only slightly and gaze in to his brilliant irises. His smile fades as he leans forward, placing his lips against yours, chastely. You arms instinctively went around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him, as his hands fisted on to the material of your cotton T-shirt. Your held tilts slightly, as you open your mouth to him, deepening the kiss.

A sudden noise jolts the two of you apart.

Your mouth falls agape at the sight of your parents and Martin's father sitting on the couch inside of the common room you stood before. Mom looked panicked, Dad seemed paler than usual, and Mr. Brewer grinned knowingly at his son. "What on Earth . . . ?" said Mom, incoherent mutterings escaping her throat, her face somewhat unreadable.

Martin grasps your hand tightly in to his. "Whatever happens, we stick together, all right?"

You nod apprehensively and clench tightly on to his fingers. "You've always been there when I've needed you the most. I'm not worried."

And as you take a deep breath and a step toward the three adults in the common room, you sigh, "Here goes."

**End.**


End file.
